The sheets of rain lash down, almost maniacal in their resolve to pound everything in the way.
The lightning flashes blindingly. For a split second, there is silence, followed by the booming thunder nearby.
The water pounds and pounds. The thunder rumbles. The lightning comes again.
The storm is hitting my windshield and the wipers struggle to move the water. Their back and forth motion is hypnotic — and I wonder whether the storm I feel and hear and fear is really outside — or if it’s inside my heart.
It’s dark and it’s loud and it’s gloomy. The storm outside the car threatens me physically, but the storm inside threatens something far deeper. Far more existential. It’s pounding on my very core again.

Weddings are triumphs of love and hope over reasonable fears
When times turn too dark in my life, I’m grateful for furry antidepressant
Against all rational choice of will, an old hunger in my heart returns
In the old Ginger or Mary Ann debate, I wanted a third choice
Right of secession? In a sane world, we could talk about it in 2011 without talk of slavery
Little boy for whom I was named shows what my mother hoped for
I don’t really hate you, honest; I’m just afraid you may hurt me
We have a hunger for love just as strong as the need for food, water
Boston ‘gay on gay’ assault shines light on absurdity of ‘hate crime’